The Meaning of Bravery
by Thief of Black Winged Hearts
Summary: Astrid is attacked and Walter finds her. Can he find out why someone did this to her? familyAstid/Walter warning: mentions of girl on girl


Hi there, folks! Not that anyone's reading this, but oh well. I thought I might do something...not odd, but unconvetional. This is a different kind of fic, but one that I can totally see happening. This is why; not once, in the entire friinge series, have I ever seen Astrid look at a boy. So, there you go, it's a plausible fic. Anyway, I hope you like this fic.

_This fic is dedicated to all the LBGT out there who take abuse for what they are, and still have the guts to hold their heads high. You are a brave bunch and I salute you for your perseveriance and you faith in yourselves._The Meaning of Bravery

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Walter tended to whistle on his way to and from the vending machine at night. It was something he had learned at St. Claire's, a way to keep his fear of the monsters in the shadows at bay. Walter smiled as he whistled, walking with a bounce in his step that could almost be called a skip. His son and Olivia were going out for drinks again tonight. From what he had observed, their obtuse attraction for each other hadn't lead to something 'else' yet, or even had been admitted between the two at this point in time. But, as a parent, he was allowed to wish for some grandchildren before he died.

The halls of Harvard were eerie, dark and silent as if the whole school was holding its breath. But after working in this building for eighteen-odd collective years, Walter had acclimated to the silence of the old, aged building. He even liked it sometimes. Walter found the silence almost like the silence of a world with new-fallen snow. The way the flakes muffled everything, leaving only peaceful silence behind, was something that had always fascinated Walter. He vaguely remembered doing several experiments having something to do with fallen snow, but like all vague memories he now possessed he pushed it back into the recesses of his cavernous mind. This was the way Walter saw it; if it didn't have to do with Peter or the others then it really wasn't really worth remembering anyway.

Walter continued his shuffle-bounce down the hall, whistling "I Could Have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady. He was feeling really happy today…why was that again? Of course, Peter and Olivia were drinking together tonight! Walter admonished himself briefly for forgetting, shuffling through the door and into his lab.

The lab was poorly lit; the only lights on were around his workstation and a small one by Gene's stall. Walter had insisted on having a nightlight for Gene, remembering the comfort that his nightlight had brought him at St. Claire's. He vaguely remembered having a slight disagreement with Peter about this (Peter had gone ahead and called it an argument), but the details escaped him. It had something to do with cows not needing nightlights and electricity bills. Walter had held very firm until Olivia had taken pity on him and convinced Peter that one little light in the lab wouldn't hurt. Peter had then retorted something to the effect of 'Well, your office can pay the bill then!', and they proceeded to have one of those 'moments' that Peter claimed to have no meaning (even though Walter knew better; they had all the meaning in the world).

All was well in the dimly lit lab. Gene was asleep in her stall and no bald men with funny accents were ambushing him with information. He made a beeline for his desk. Walter made so much noise, shuffling around and banging into things in the near dark, that he almost didn't see or hear her until he just about tripped over her. She was sitting on the floor, her back leaning again his lit work desk, one of the two lights on in the whole room. She looked almost like she had collapsed here, her legs sprawled like she hadn't had the strength to take another step and had fallen by the desk. A jolt of shock ran through Walter. He knelt down beside her so he could better take her in.

"Astro?" he asked softly, trying to make out details in the dim light. She stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, but she made no move to look at or answer him. When he got no response, Walter reached up onto the desk with a fumbling hand. Searching blindly and knocking over several things (he couldn't remember if they were important or not), he found the lamp with his hand. Dragging it down to the floor, he pointed it at the prone figure on the floor in the hopes that he could better make her out.

It was Astrid Farnsworth, his cheerful lab assistant.

"Oh, my dear!" he exclaimed softly, a horrified expression on his face. "What on earth happened?"

Astrid was wearing a lovely red top with fairly nice pants to go with it. The clothes were ruined, however, by several streaks of mud and dirt that ran down the front. They were also wet, like she had been out in the rain or lying in a puddle. It was hard to tell, but Walter thought he could see blood streaks on the abused cloth as well. Near the bottom corner of the shirt, there was a fairly long rip in the shirt, as if someone had pulled on it to the point where it had torn. As if the state of her clothes didn't shock Walter enough, her face was startling. There was bruising at a couple different points on her face, and she had a cut on her left temple. Her eyes were gently closed, and she was breathing in the rhythm of someone in a light sleep.

Walter felt the first wave of shock be replaced by anger. He wanted to know who did this, and he wanted to make them pay. Agent Farnsworth was like family in the same way Olivia was like family. And no one, no one messed with Walter Bishop's family and got away with it.

Deciding the best course of action would be to wake Astrid up, Walter gently shook her shoulder. His large hand, worn with many years on this planet, seemed to dwarf Astrid's small and slender shoulder. She seemed to stir, moving her head and murmuring a little. Opening her eyes slowly, Walter saw as consciousness slowly return to her eyes. Realizing where she was, Astrid moved to prop herself up more firmly against the desk, but winced and fell back cradling her left hand to her chest. Walter, still kneeling by her, made flustered, anxious movements.

"Stay where you are my dear. Movement may not be wise at this moment in time," he cautioned, hovering over her anxiously. His hands flitted lightly over her body like birds, as if he didn't know quite what to do with them. Finally, Walter settled on gently grasping her chin, moving her head towards him so he could see the injuries on her face better. In the light from the lamp, Walter could see the haunted look lingering in her eyes, and the discolorations already forming on her left cheek and right temple. He looked at her, feeling lost and useless.

"I…I don't know what to do. Maybe I should call Peter," Walter started as he remembered, reaching for the phone Peter always slipped into his front vest pocket. Walter recalled Peter saying something about emergencies, and this being an emergency he didn't think Peter would be too upset.

Walter was trying desperately to dial the number he thought might be Peter's cell when Astrid grabbed his hand with her good arm. "Walter," she said softly, looking down at her knees. "Please don't. Just…wait, okay?" The way she said this, the way her shoulders hunched and her body curled inward slightly was enough to stay Walter's hand.

"Alright," said Walter, looking around the dark lab for inspiration as he tried to decide what to do next. Prioritizing, he figured that he needed to make sure Astrid wasn't seriously injured before anything else was done. "Can you stand up, my dear?" Walter asked her, using the desk to pull himself upright. Once standing, he brushed himself off habitually and looked back down at the stricken agent.

"I think so, Walter," Astrid said shakily, using her right arm to clumsily haul herself to her feet. Suddenly vertical, Astrid seemed unsteady, tipping slightly to the side. Worried, Walter quickly put a gentle arm around her waist. Astrid hissed in a quick breath, and he leapt away like his arm had been burned.

"I'm so sorry, my dear! Did I hurt you?" Walter asked anxiously, wringing his hands. Astrid looked up at him, giving him a small smile.

"Its fine Walter," she said, holding out her good hand to him. After a moment of hesitation, Walter took it and led her to the couch. Astrid sat down gingerly while Walter hovered above.

"No, it is not fine," said Walter, clearly agitated. "I didn't mean to aggravate any existing injury." Before she could say anything, Walter growled out a 'wait here' and rushed off into the dark. He was very angry with himself, for once again not considering all of the possibilities. He needed to be smart and use his 190 IQ melon to start thinking of solutions to his current problem. Cumbersomely navigating the lab in the dark, Walter found the shelf in the dark and clumsily sought out the first aid kit. Shuffling back, he snagged the lamp off his desk, which was attached to a very long extension cord. Walter liked moving his lamp to wherever he happened to need it, so one day Olivia had quietly gone and bought an extension cord. Walter smiled to himself in the dark. While Olivia wasn't loud about her emotions, she found other smaller ways to let people know how she felt about them.

Returning to the couch, Walter placed the lamp of the side table and sat down next to Astrid. In his absence, Astrid seemed to have become very quiet. She just sat there rubbing her left arm, eyes directed somewhere in the darkness. Very carefully, Walter sat down next to her. Wetting a cloth with a water bottle he had picked up on his vending machine run, Walter carefully began to clean Astrid's face. He didn't say anything, as he gently removed the mud and blood, and neither did she. A single tear tracked down from her eye, and Walter smoothed away with his thumb.

"It wasn't supposed to happen," Astrid said, looking straight ahead into the dark. Walter didn't say anything, just continued to clean her off and listened patiently as her story spilled out.

"I was at a bar down the street. I…I had asked my girlfriend to meet me there," Astrid said hesitantly, looking sideways through her lashes at Walter as if she was waiting for him to say something. He simply smiled at her and cleaned a streak of blood off her neck. Looking back into the inky blackness of the room, she continued, saying, "It was just our typical date, we ate and talked and she kissed me goodbye outside before driving home. My car was parked back here at the lab, so I started to walk back when someone pulled me into an alley. It was some guy; I didn't get a good look at his face in the dark. He told me he didn't appreciate two lady fags kissing outside of _his _bar. I told him that I couldn't help being who I was, and he snapped. He threw me to the ground, and he stomped on my wrist, and…" Astrid paused, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she took a shuttering breath in. "He kicked me and punched me. Many times. I tried to fight back, but it all happened so fast and it was so dark outside. Then, he spit on me, and left." Astrid's face was screwed up as she tried to hold back sobs. Carefully, not knowing what else he could offer her, Walter pulled her into a hug. Astrid clung to Walter's sweater vest with her good as she sobbed into his chest.

"Oh Astrid," Walter said sadly, and Astrid gave a watery laugh.

"You got my name right, Walter," she murmured, face still buried in his chest.

"Oh," said Walter, feeling a bit surprised and accomplished. "So I did." He smiled to himself, gently stroking Astrid's back.

"No one ever seems to understand us, Walter," Astrid said brokenly, back still heaving with muffled sobs. "We're quite the pair, you and me."

"I suppose so," Walter said thoughtfully, his face wrinkling in thought. His hand had moved to circles now, aiming to soothe. Slowly, the hand that held Walter's sweater in a death grip loosened, and Astrid's sobs ceased.

"You can make the call now," she murmured, still leaned up against him with his vest held loosely in her hand. Astrid turned her head so her ear was pressed up against Walter's chest, listening to the steady 'whoosh' of his lungs. Walter took a moment to recall what phone call she was referring to, but then it came to him and he dialed the number. Who said he never remembered anything! After two rings Peter picked up sounding, to Walter, a tad peeved.

"Hello, son! It's Walter, your father! Yes, I know you told me not to call unless it was an emergency, but it's not for me, it's for Aster. Oh yes, there's been an incident, and I think you may want to come back to the lab. Oh, and a hospital visit might be wise, some of her cut might need stitches. And don't forget my freeze pops!" Walter said, ending the phone call abruptly. Astrid gave a tiny sigh through her nose.

"Now Olivia is going to be worried and drive like a maniac all the way here. No one blows through traffic lights like that girl when she's upset," Astrid admonished.

"I do hope I wasn't interrupting anything that might give me grandchildren!" Walter said worriedly, and Astrid snickered a little. Calming down, Astrid moved so she was curled up against Walter's side, wincing as it jarred the bruises on her ribcage.

"Would you like my sweater?" asked Walter brightly, face lighting up pleasantly. From the way she was still holding on to it, he assumed she might want it.

"No, I just want to go to sleep," she said, sounding garbled. "I'm tired. Wake me up when Peter and Olivia get here."

There was something Walter should remember, something about sleep and head wounds, but it easily slipped his mind. "Alright," Walter complied, making a move to get up and fetch the old afghan they used on tough cases where the team spent nights at the lab, doing various forms of research. But the grip on his sweater redoubled in an instant, and he stayed where he was.

"Please stay. I…I don't like the dark," Astrid admitted, staring into the blackness once more. Walter in a flash realized what she was doing. She wasn't looking, she was watching, probably reminded of the darkness of the alleyway. Astrid, Walter surmised, was afraid her assailant would come back and- Walter couldn't even bear to finish that thought.

"That's perfectly alright, my dear," said Walter, settling back onto the couch. "I don't like it either."

"Thank you," she whispered, and then was still. Her breathing slowed and evened as Walter watched. She was still curled up firmly into his side, one hand still firmly holding the front of his sweater. He almost thought she was asleep, until she murmured, "Why are people so mean, Walter?" The way she said this, in the voice not of a federal agent or his lab assistant, but of a broken, scared child, tore into Walter's heart.

"I don't know, my dear," he told her as she drifted into the land of dreams, tires screeching and headlights flashing outside the lab window. Walter had never understood prejudice, and he wasn't going to start now. The woman in his arms had done nothing but be true to who she really was, and now she was paying the unjust price. "I don't know why people are cruel," he whispered, running a gentle hand through her hair as sadness darkened his eyes. "But I know people can be brave as well."

When Peter and Olivia burst into the room, they found Astrid curled up against Walter on the couch, covered in bruises. And when Peter asked later about the tear on Walter's cheek, he told him it must surely have been a trick of the light.

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If anyone would like to review this, please do. And if there's anyone out there who has been in a similar situation and feels like they need to talk, feel free to PM me.


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